


cannot tell a single soul (i can't)

by wednesdayevening



Series: take a look in that mirror, now tell me who's the fairest [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Tommyinnit, betad by bri the bitch, cornettos, she isnt a bitch jk love u bri, trans author, uhh, wilbur is a good brother, wrote this cos i wanted rep if need be ill take it down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:26:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27794551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesdayevening/pseuds/wednesdayevening
Summary: “Wilbur!” Tommy says when Wil picks up the phone. “Big man. Bitchboy. Big W. Willlllllllllll-”“TommyInnit,” Wilbur greets. He’s laughing. “How can I help you on this fine, um, Wednesday afternoon?”“How busy are you, big man?” Tommy says instead. Cuts to the chase. The office lady shoots him a look over the glass screen, nails tapping impatiently. “You streaming?”“Nah. I’m off to Tescos. Why?”“Reckon you could make a quick detour?”or, tommy gets into a fight at school and calls wilbur to pick him up. fluff & angst ensues.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: take a look in that mirror, now tell me who's the fairest [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069958
Comments: 69
Kudos: 2221





	cannot tell a single soul (i can't)

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'swim' by hoped
> 
> [edit (8/1/21): changed tommy's last name to an original one in light of him expressing discomfort with people using his real one]

Tommy frowns at the office lady from across the administration hallway, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed. She stares back with equal fierceness, acrylic nails tapping rhythmically on a desk he can’t see from his seat in a hard, plastic chair.

“School’s been out for half an hour,” He says. “Surely you’ve got somewhere to be.” 

The office lady raises a thin, pencilled eyebrow. She’s been working behind the plexiglas wall for as long as Tommy’s been at this school, but doesn’t know her name. She reminds him of a Brooke. Maybe a Susan. “I can’t leave until someone signs you out,” She says. “Now, who’s it gonna be? Your mum? A friend?” 

Tommy glares. The ice pack in his hand has melted, he’s been sitting here that long. It’s one of those small cube ones that you tear from a sheet and refreeze. He tosses it from hand to hand, as if the ice pack is his options and his hands are scales. 

Calling his parents is off the table. His mum would complain about him interrupting her workday. She’d take one look at his face and assume he instigated the fight, and then wouldn’t let him get a single word in. He’d be grounded in a flash. He can’t afford to miss that many streams. His Dad isn’t an option either. He’d lock the car doors and force Tommy to explain what happened, and then sigh disappointedly. Tommy really doesn’t want to deal with a You Knew What You Were Getting Into When You Signed Up For All of This It’s Your Fault talk again.

He can’t call Tubbo, because Toby can’t drive without a parent, and Tubbo’s parents keep in contact with his own parents. Everything would just circulate back. And he can’t walk home, because Brooke-Susan won’t let him, no matter how much he tells her that he’s completely fine.

He has only one option. 

“Are you one  _ thousand  _ percent positive you can’t let me go without a guardian?” Tommy tries one last time, fingers crossed behind his back. “Not even if I slip you a tenner?” 

“Ten dollars isn’t worth me losing my job, sugar,” Brooke-Susan tells him. “Call someone, or I’ll call for you.” 

Tommy sighs.

-

“Wilbur!” Tommy says. “Big man. Bitchboy. Big W. Willlllllllllll-” 

“TommyInnit,” Wilbur greets. He’s laughing. “How can I help you on this fine, um, Wednesday afternoon?” 

“How busy are you, big man?” Tommy says instead. Cuts to the chase. Brooke-Susan shoots him a look over the glass screen, nails tapping impatiently. “You streaming?”

“Nah. I’m off to Tescos. Why?” 

“Reckon you could make a quick detour?” 

-

It’s half past four when Wilbur stumbles into the front office of Tommy’s high school, looking a little bit confused and very out of place. He’s wearing his iconic yellow sweater and a beanie, and Brooke-Susan looks up so fast Tommy wonders how she didn’t get whiplash.

“Hello, sir,” She purrs. Tommy thinks he might vomit. 

“Er,” Wilbur says. “I’m here for a TommyIn - wait. Um. Tommy - “

“Baker,” Tommy supplies. Wilbur turns around, curls flying, grinning from ear to ear. His grin vanishes as soon as he sees Tommy. Tommy winces. He’s been checking his reflection in his phone camera, prodding his tender cheekbones and trying to poke the bruises away with no avail. He knows he looks pretty shit. His left eye socket is swollen and bruised yellow and purple, eye red and inflamed. There’s blood on his shirt, the collar of which is ripped. A wad of toilet paper is stuffed in one nostril. Wilbur’s eyes trace his face, face aghast. The judgment feels worse than Sam’s right hook. 

Wilbur doesn’t speak. He turns back around and signs whatever paper the office lady has slid under the window. Brooke-Susan waves goodbye to him amusedly, and then Tommy’s free. He follows Wil out the door. They climb into his car - a sandalwood-smelling, beat-up Corolla - and Tommy waits for Wil’s disappointed sigh.

“You wanna talk about it?” 

He blinks, surprised. “What?”

“The - whatever happened to your face,” Wilbur says. He puts the car into reverse and backs out of the school parking lot. 

Tommy shakes his head immediately. He should tell him, because Wil went to all the effort to drive half an hour out of his way to pick him up because of his own stupid problem, but telling Wil about the fight means he has to tell him about everything, and Tommy’s not ready to do that. 

The car descends into silence, punctuated only by the car’s blinker. Outside, the sun dips behind a drab looking office building and doesn’t resurface. Navy blue floods the orange and red sunset sky. The streetlights turn on one by one, and as every light flickers something cracks a little more inside Tommy. 

“I’m sorry,” He blurts, “I can - I can walk home. I shouldn’t’ve called.” 

The car falls into silence again, and Tommy has never been more nervous. Wil indicates into a dimly lit parking lot and parks the car. He unbuckles his seatbelt and takes his phone out of his pocket, typing furiously.

“Wil? Tommy breathes. “Who’re you texting?”

“Your mum,” Wil says. Tommy snorts. “I’m serious,” He grins, and Tommy stops laughing. “I’m glad you called me. You’re not walking home.”

“What - where are we going?”

Wilbur steps out of the car, but not before adjusting his beanie. “Tescos. Approved by your Mum.” 

Tommy scrabbles to follow the older boy, tripping over his long limbs in his haste to jump out of the car. Wilbur’s already walking toward the shopping centre. 

“Wait, Will,” Tommy calls. “How the fuck do you have my mum’s number?”

-

Wilbur buys a packet of Cornettos from Tescos and nothing else. They open the ice cream on Brighton Pier. It’s nice, Tommy thinks, hanging out with Wil. It’s so easy; they laugh and aim rocks at the scaffolding underneath the jetty, bask in the artificial arcade light, talk about everything and nothing - the new video they’re halfway through recording, streams, Tommy’s upcoming math test, Wilbur’s trip to Germany. Tommy wants to savour the moment, but his face is still stinging and he can’t help but think about telling Wilbur.

He would be fine with it. Tommy can’t count on both hands the amount of times Wil’s spoken up about it on stream. He’d even posted that petition link a couple of months ago of his own accord. 

_It’s different when it’s family, though_ , a small part of his brain reminds him. His hands clench and his heart sinks, because it’s true. His Aunt was a teacher at the local high school and assisted with the GSA. When he came out, she was the first to object. And Wilbur constantly refers to him - and Techno - as annoying little brothers. (“ _Bothers! Oh, I’m so fucking funny, Tommy, I should’ve become a comedian_!”) His pulse is going so fast he could probably power the entirety of London. 

“Toms,” Wilbur says, lilting voice slicing through his inner monologue. “What’s up, gremlin child? I can practically hear the cogs turning in your head.” 

“Gremlin child? That’s rich coming from you, dirty crime boy,” Tommy deflects. His joke falls flat - jumps off the sea wall and into the churning ocean below. His words taste sour in his mouth. He feels his hands tremble and jams them between his thighs.

“Hey,” Wilbur says. “Hey. It’s okay, Toms. It’s just me.” 

Tommy breathes in until his lungs feel like bursting. He abandons his Cornetto on the wall beside him and exhales deeply. Wilbur is silent. 

“I threw the first punch,” Tommy explains, “but he deserved it.” 

He hears Wilbur’s mouth open to interject, but the words are coming freely now, rising up his throat like bile. He vomits them all out. 

“We were best mates in like, kindy and shit,” He says, “Sam and I. Inseparable. And then we moved away for a bit and I honestly forgot about him because we were _ eight _ , and I thought he didn’t recognise me when I moved back, but he must’ve - he must’ve, because - “ 

_ The bathroom door flew open, scuffed converse echoing on the tiles. Sam’s hand was on the bathroom door, his mouth open in a surprised ‘o’. For a second, the room was silent, sans the sound of the air dryer on Tommy’s hands. Then -  _

_ “You’re aware this is the men’s bathroom, right?”  _

_ Tommy froze. “Yes,” He stuttered out, chest squeezing, anxiety building under his palms and concentrating in his shoulders. “I am.” And then, in a brave burst of confidence - “The fuck are you implying?”  _

_ Sam crossed the room in two strides, jaw set, arms crossed over his Chelsea shirt. “You’re in the wrong bathroom, and you know it.” _

“Then he called me by my old name,” Tommy says. His voice is barely a whisper. “So I punched him. Except he’s like, ripped as fuck - looks like he shoots up with fuckin’ steriods before PE, so he got in a fair few more punches than I did.” 

The silence eats up his words. Tommy sneaks a glance at Wilbur beside him. 

“Wil?” He says. “Please, say something - “

His words are cut off as Wilbur practically dives across their shared Cornetto box to tackle Tommy in a hug. 

“Thank you so much for telling me, Toms,” Wilbur murmurs. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Tommy’s eyes are burning with unshed tears. “Wil,” He says, voice cracking halfway through the word. Wilbur tightens his hold. 

“I love you so much,” Wilbur says. “You’re my - you’re my  _ brother _ , Toms.” 

Tommy chokes. 

It’s safe to say they’re both crying a little now. Tommy’s bruised face stings as his face dampens. He doesn’t care. He feels so safe. 

-

Wilbur pulls up in Tommy’s driveway and flicks the light above the glove box on. A soft indie song is pouring from Wilbur’s tinny car radio.

“This is my actual phone number,” Wil says, handing the phone back. Tommy stares at the 9 digits as though they’re going to burn a hole through his screen. “You can call me properly if you need it - not through Discord. Or text me. Anytime.” 

Tommy cradles his phone. He feels honoured. “Jesus. Thanks, Big Man.”

Wil laughs, then quietens. “Toms?”

“Yeah?”

“Is there - is there any reason why you called me and not your parents?”

Tommy sucks in a deep breath and sits back in the passenger seat, head angled up to stare at the car mirror. His contused reflection winces. 

“I’ve got supportive parents,” He shrugs half-heartedly. “I’m so lucky - they didn’t kick me out, they call me by my name, my pronouns, hell, I’m on T - I just. Any time something bad happens because of me being - me being trans, their first reaction is that it’s my problem. That it’s my fault, cos, y’know. I brought this on myself.” His tone is bitter. “I really wasn’t in the mood to hear that today.” 

Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, Wil’s eyes look steely. He runs a hand through his curly hair and smiles at Tommy. “Well, you’ve got my number now, Mr. Innit. If you ever need a breather, I’m here.”

Tommy can feel the backs of his eyes stinging again. He shoots Wilbur one last immensely grateful look and hops out of his car awkwardly. 

“Are you gonna be okay with the parents?” Wil starts his car. 

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “Mother and FatherInnit sleep like  _ logs _ . I’ll be fine until the morning, I guess. Pray for me.”

“I can do better than that,” Wil leans over the driver’s seat and grabs an object from the backseat. He throws it at Tommy. “Talk to you tomorrow, Toms.” 

Tommy waves goodbye as his brother backs out of the driveway and drives out into the street. When his headlights are but a pinprick in the distance, he glances down at the tube of concealer in his hand and grins a face-splitting grin. 

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by solace404's trans tommy series, which is *chefs kiss*. uhhhhh leave kudos and comments i love responding to them all. thanks for reading!


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